


Ghost Hunt

by Anonymous



Category: Danny Phantom, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a drabble written in response to a lovely fanart drawn by allonsyblue/hoursago on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> I have no intentions of continuing nor rehashing this drabble at any point, unfortunately, as it was churned out in less than an hour for shits and giggles. [Artwork can be found here.](http://hoursago.tumblr.com/post/20486715302/help-send-help-help-me)

What Danny had originally expected to be a night of hunting the Box Ghost (yet again), turned out to be nothing like he’d ever experienced before. It was just supposed to be a routine job! Get in, find the Box Ghost, shove him back into the thermos before he could do any more harm to the new shipment of uniforms for the marching band (haphazardly shipped to the school in cardboard boxes, of all things), and get out. Simple. Piece of cake.  
  
Of course, since when had his life ever been “routine” or “easy”?  
  
It was the middle of the night and the school was empty. Well, it was supposed to be, anyway. How the two men - way too tall and too old to be high schoolers - even got into the school was beyond him, and before Danny could even so much as ask what the heck they were doing wandering around Casper High’s cafeteria in the dead of night, he was met with a shotgun blast to the chest. Nothing could’ve ever prepared Danny for such a suprise attack, let alone a whole barrage of them. Blast after blast ripped through Danny, each one causing him extreme pain - pain that couldn’t even be avoided when he tried to shift to intangibility. Each shot felt like an explosion of his own ghost ray going off inside him.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, the barrage finally ended and Danny fell to the floor, gasping and moaning pitifully. It was obvious Danny was pretty much down for the count, but the two men refused to let down their guards, the barrels of their still smoking guns trained on the ghost boy.  
  
Wait a minute. Guns? How could they have hurt him so badly with something as ordinary shotguns when he was supposed to be intangible? Had they been using some special type of ammunition? Were they ghost hunters?  
  
The fact that their attacks were capable to incapacitate him to such an extent in his ghost form scared Danny out of his wits. Too scared to even try to transform back into his human form. Not that doing so would’ve helped any. He could only imagine how badly things would go if he transformed now. Were they going to kill him? Was he going to die here?  
  
Danny wasn’t the only one who seemed wary of what was going to happen next, it seemed, judging from the looks of shock that were on both the men’s faces.  
  
“Sammy, what the hell is going on?” the shorter one growled, obviously confused and angry. Quickly reaching into his pocket, he pulled out more shells and began to reload his shotgun. Once fully loaded, he cocked it forcefully, and lifted it to train back onto Danny once more.  
  
“Hell if I know, Dean,” the taller one - ‘Sammy’, Danny assumed - replied, as he quickly but calmly reloaded his gun as well. “They said a ghost was haunting this place, weren’t they? And he sure looks like a ghost to me…”  
  
“No shit, Sherlock,” ‘Dean’ snapped back. “But the rock salt should’ve just pissed him off or scared him away! Not… this,” he gestured to Danny with his gun, still trying to recover as he lay prone on the ground in front of them.  
  
“Well, what else besides ghosts get hurt by rock salt?” Sammy supplied.  
  
Rock salt? Was that what was in those shotgun shells? How the heck could rock salt hurt so badly? Just what were these guys?  
  
“Demons,” Dean answered, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Sam, you brought the knife with you this time, right?” He received a nod, and Sam reached behind him, pulling a very intricately designed knife from out of nowhere.  
  
A demon? They thought he was a demon? Wait. Did demons even really exist? Whoa. Hold on a minute, knife? Did he say knife? What the heck-?! If these men were able to hurt him with just rock salt…  
  
“P-Please,” Danny whimpered in protest, holding up a hand in surrender. “…’m not a demon. Let… Let me explain.” Weakly, he tried to get up, wary of the gun keeping him pinned.  
  
“Can it, Spooky! Whatever you’re plannin’ on sellin’, I ain’t buyin’!” Dean snarled, finger tightening on the trigger.  
  
“Please!” Danny begged, desperate.  
  
“Dean,” Sam spoke up, “Let him speak. It’s not like he can do anything… just look at him.” Sam gestured at Danny with his knife as the ghost-boy slowly got to his feet. “He can barely stand up, let alone do anything.”  
  
A few tense moments passed before Dean let out a sigh and relaxed his grip on the gun. He lowered it - but just barely - and grumbled at Danny. “You got five minutes, Casper.”  
  
Letting out a huge sigh of relief, Danny slowly floated himself up in the air and told these two strange men the basics of his story. His name was Danny Fenton. He was 14 years-old when his parents built a very strange machine…  
  
“So what, you’re some crime-fighting superhero? Is that why you’re wearing that cheesy get-up?” Dean scoffed, laughing under his breath.  
  
“Y-Yeah…” Danny replied sheepishly. “H-Hey, wait! It’s not cheesy!”  
  
“Dude, yeah, it is,” Dean shot back. Sam rolled his eyes, he should’ve known his brother would completely miss the huge issue at hand. He opened his mouth to speak-  
  
“But whatever,” Dean shrugged, “More importantly… Half- _human_ , half- _ghost_? Is that even **_possible_**? It sounds like something you’d see in some after-school cartoon special or something.” He looked over at Sam expectantly.  
  
“Beats me,” Sam shrugged, “Anything’s possible, I guess.”  
  
“But a half-ghost?!”  
  
“Dean, you’re talking to the ‘Guy with the Demon Blood’, we’ve both died and come back to life more times than we can count, and we have an Angel of the Lord guarding our car and eating cheeseburgers. At this point, I don’t think we have any right to say anything.”


End file.
